Butterflies roost in two places, candlelight shines on you, peacocks fly south, break the sun and set the sun.
The phoenix leaves are fluttering yellow and the coldness is hurt, and the plum blossoms are old and empty.
The lonely wind and moon are turning into stars and frost, and the vast sea and mountains are far away, and the blue sea is desolate.
Where is the old friend? It's hard to see the basin. It's raining and clear, so the world is wandering.
There is a long pavilion close at hand, where life and death are blurred, and the clear mist of the river is broken into pieces. "Painting Hall"
It is known that the horse is crossing the bird's nest to the south, and the green soul is waiting for you to turn back.
——Inscription